How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?
by sarapals with past50
Summary: GSR. How does one mend a broken heart? Attempts are made by friends-but does it really work? As always, this is GSR and while sad, there will be fluff, fun, and chapters with Sara's long-time friends. And what is GSR without a mention or two or three of Gil Grissom! Spoilers for "Forget Me Not"...but if you are reading, you've seen it! Thanks so much for reading.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: The first chapter of a new story! Enjoy!_

**How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 1**

Barbara Russell placed a plate of her husband's favorite foods on the table. "You should have brought her home. Sara's a nice person—a good person—no one seriously thought she killed someone, did they?" She asked as she sat across from D.B.

Shaking his head as he tucked into a bowl of warm fruit compote, he said, "No one thought she killed anyone—but it was hard for her. Then when she mentioned her husband—I don't know, Barb—I don't know what to think about that." He circled his hand, "you know how women get—she's emotional but—but doesn't want to be."

His wife pointed her fork in his direction and asked, "Did you leave her alone?" Her voice rose with concern.

"No, no, Nick and Greg assured me they were taking care of her." D.B. said; pausing before he added, "She's angry, I think. At herself, at her husband—there's a lot of stress—he hasn't been home in months and she moved her mother to Vegas several months ago—I didn't know that." Thoughtfully, he ate several bites of food; his wife kept her eyes on him. "Okay, what if I ask her tomorrow—we'll take her out to eat."

"No," Barbara said, "bring her here. It'll be much quieter and maybe she'll feel like talking."

D.B. smiled. "If you can get Sara Sidle talking about her personal life, you're better than the rest of us."

"Did she say any more about her husband?"

Eyebrows lifting, D.B. said, "Not really—not after saying he was no longer her husband—she did not want to call him." He hesitated, "but before all of this, I got the feeling she was angry—or upset. She was avoiding answering her phone several times. He hasn't been home in a while—missed her birthday." Grinning he asked, "Have you ever said I wasn't your husband?"

His wife snorted a laugh. "I think every wife has had that thought—I've probably said it as a prediction if you didn't show up for something or if you did something!"

"Well, I offered her time off but she refused. Said she wanted to get back to work."

"Poor girl," Barbara said, "maybe having her mother close will help."

Again, D.B. shook his head, "No, I don't think her mother is the helping kind."

Early in the next shift, D.B. managed to find Sara alone and quietly extended an invitation. "Barbara is cooking. She was more than a little upset that I didn't bring you home with me after all that happened."

Sara managed a slight smile as she said, "Like a stray puppy you see on the street."

He was prepared. "She's always been into stray puppies, and teenagers," he chuckled. "And now she's into CSIs that leave fingerprints in a murder victim's room. Say you'll come—better idea—let me pick you up at your house and we'll get you back home. Barb looks for a reason to make and drink a mojito." He heard a quiet laugh. "And she makes a very mean oatmeal—topped off with Baileys."

"As in Bailey's Irish Cream?"

"Yep." He thought he had her ready to accept the invitation. "You'll never eat it any other way." He reached over and touched her shoulder. "I'll pick you up."

Sara wanted to say "no" but thought it would only postpone the invitation. And she had spent too much time in her own company lately.

"Okay, thanks. I'll be there, but you don't have to pick me up."

"I insist," her supervisor said.

Ten hours later, D.B. followed as Sara drove to her house. She called for him to come inside. "I refuse to wear my work clothes," she explained as she opened the front door.

"Are you okay, Sara? With your house, I mean." He asked as she reset the alarm at the door.

Hesitating for a few seconds, she said, "Yes, I am. I—I—this is my home. I'm not going to be afraid in my home." She looked up at him and smiled. "The good guys have to win. You understand—you didn't leave after what happened to your granddaughter."

He chuckled. "No, we didn't." He remained in the living room while Sara changed; she was quick and caught him as he returned one of her photographs to its place.

"I like your—your style," he said. His hand indicated the photo, "Happier times?" he asked.

Sara picked up the framed picture of her and Grissom. "This was a good day—a beautiful day. My mom was with us—having a good day."

He pointed to another photograph. "I like this one."

Sara picked up the picture. "This was the day he arrived in Costa Rica." She sighed and ran her thumb across the glass before replacing it.

D.B. took her elbow. "Let's go. I know Barbara is waiting. With food!"

There was food; Sara was certain Barbara had been working for hours on the assortment already on the table when they arrived. Immediately, she was given a tall frosted glass and the aroma of fresh lime hit her nose.

Barbara smiled, "We'll add rum on the third one—or maybe the second one! It's so good to see you, Sara!" The two women briefly hugged each other. Barbara turned to her husband, hugged him, and promised to take care of Sara while he changed clothes.

To Sara, she said, "Muffins are hot and the frittata is in the oven—three more minutes. I have a few more things in the refrigerator."

Sara glanced back at the table. "Who else will be here?"

Barbara laughed, "Only the three of us. Leftovers will go to our son and his friends—they would eat chair legs if warmed up!"

Sara was handed a small jar of homemade jam and a bowl of whipped butter. Barbara managed to balance bowls of honey, walnuts, salsa, yogurt, and a bottle of ketchup while closing the refrigerator. "D.B. likes to eat a big meal when he gets home—I don't think he eats enough!"

D.B. appeared before the two women had bowls on the table. In a flurry of activity, Sara's glass was filled again; she shook her head at the suggestion of rum. Muffins were placed on the table. The frittata was pulled out of the oven; oatmeal was poured into bowls and a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream appeared on the table. D.B. asked if Sara wanted coffee—she declined—and he indicated a chair that placed her between him and his wife.

Sara almost gasped at the bowls of berries, melon slices, warm apricots, granola, baked apples, sweet potatoes covered with pecans, two kinds of muffins, mushroom caps filled with a savory filling, in addition to bowls of oatmeal and an asparagus frittata.

"Try the Baileys on the oatmeal," D.B. encouraged as he tipped the bottle over a bowl of steaming oatmeal.

Sara nodded and he poured a layer of the cream liqueur over the oatmeal. Quickly, all three filled plates, and managed to keep conversation flowing in an easy dialogue of ingredients, recipes, cooking and food shopping while they ate and passed platters and bowls to each other. By the time Sara pushed away from the table, Barbara topped off drinks, and D.B. complained about the amount of food left on the table.

"Those boys will decide this is the best place in town to eat, Barb! Not like they don't have the cafeteria!"

Barbara laughed. "This way I know what they are eating. I feel responsible—needed!"

Her phone rang and she stepped away from the table.

D.B. explained. "That's our daughter—Katie is having a difficult time—can't sleep or bad dreams."

Sara leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. "I can understand. Make some good memories with her. Make her mind so busy with good experiences that she forgets the bad one." When D.B. lifted his eyes to meet hers, she continued, "Several years ago—I'm sure you've read my file—I was kidnapped by this—this person—Natalie. She took me into the desert and meant for me to die. I thought I would die but I didn't.

"For months, I tried to get over it. Grissom tried to help—nothing worked until I went away. Far away—I got on a research ship and worked so hard that when night came, I did not dream of the past. I went to Costa Rica and kept working." She smiled. "Take Katie to Disney World or Disneyland and make fun memories—so she dreams of castles and princesses."

D.B. grinned. "Yeah—yeah. That's a good idea—Barb—she's been after me for months. She would like that as much as Katie." He twirled fingers around his glass. "Does it still work—for you?"

"Yeah, yes, it does. I can dream of hammerhead sharks and whales and monkeys—sometimes I wake up and think I'm still there."

"That's good—that's good." He kept his eyes on his glass as he asked, "Do you want to go back?"

Softly, Sara laughed. "Are you asking if I'm planning a long vacation?"

"No, no," he chuckled. "I'm wondering about your husband. I don't mean to pry, Sara, but I feel as responsible for you as Barbara does about our son's friends. I don't want you to work all the time—I want you to make some happy memories." He looked up as his wife joined them. "Hey, how is everyone?"

Barbara shook her head. "Bad night for Katie."

"Sara has a good idea—let's go to Disney World, take Katie, make some new memories—happy memories to crowd out the bad ones. What do you say?" When Barbara's mouth fell open, D.B. continued, "Give me a few weeks—spring break is coming up or maybe in June. We'll have enough time to plan. Do you think she'll be okay until then?"

Barbara's finger touched the edge of her eye. "You'll go too—take a real vacation? I think Katie will be thrilled! I would be thrilled! We may have all the kids with us!" She touched Sara's hand, "Thank you—and I wanted to help you, Sara! We've talked about taking a vacation, but D.B. would never agree to go. I don't know how you did it, but thank you!"

"You did help—best food I've eaten in a while—especially the oatmeal!" Sara assured her.

D.B. drove Sara home with a bag of muffins and a pan of stuffed mushroom caps. As he slowed to a stop in her driveway, Sara said, "Thank you for the meal and these," she lifted the two items she had in her lap. "Barbara is a great cook."

"She is a good cook. And thank you for convincing me to take a vacation." D.B. took a deep breath. "Sara—if you need anything—not just a meal, but someone to talk to—someone to listen." He reached across the center console and patted her arm. "Not just about this Basderic thing." He sighed. "I don't know Grissom as well as the others, but I do believe you love him." He saw her chin tremble and patted her arm again.

Several minutes passed before Sara said, "I'll be fine."

"I don't believe that for a second, Sara. Promise me, you will talk to someone."

Her fingers moved across her brow. "I said I didn't want to sleep alone. All I really wanted was for him to come home for a while."

_A/N: Because we need a little encouragement about GSR, and we are not getting it from CSI-We are posting the first chapter today. Due to a trip, the next chapter will posted in two weeks! How do you mend a broken heart? With food? What else? We've got several ideas for more chapters._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for reading and we appreciate your review! _

**How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 2**

Nick Stokes was awake; he was worried. He should have noticed something was wrong with his good friend and co-worker long before the events of the past few days.

"If it's over, it's over," he had said to Sara. Yet, he scolded himself for his lack of attention to his longest friend and found his surprise at her disclosure troubling as much as it had been distressing. He wanted to believe it had happened quickly finding it difficult to believe Sara had been unhappy for months as her marriage fell apart—in front of his eyes.

They had grown apart, she said, placing no blame on her husband. Nick frowned—total bull, he thought. Sara Sidle had never had eyes for anyone else. And Gil Grissom was pretty much the same. They might live thousands of miles apart, but he could not wrap his mind around Grissom and Sara going separate ways. And he could never see an actual divorce happening—even if Sara had said he wasn't her husband, something that she had later corrected as a separation. None of them knew what that meant, he thought. Sara mentioned holding onto a dream—so whatever had happened between the two, it had to have been quick, recent; some kind of lover's quarrel that had not been resolved with phone calls. And then Grissom missed her birthday.

He sighed; maybe it would blow over as quickly. Restless, knowing he could not sleep, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. That's when he noticed the small carved tray that held a dozen odd items he kept next to the remote. He picked it up, dumping the contents on the table and turned it over.

'Made in Peru' was carved on the bottom. Sara had brought it back as a gift after her last trip. Proof, he thought, that whatever had happened must have occurred since then. His fingers traced over the design on the smooth wood surface. His mind tried to organize Sara's comments after her last trip. She had seemed fine when she returned, a little sad but he would expect that. They had all been working hard cases and frequent overtime but they had laughed—Sara had always been private about her personal life—even had a few beers and he had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He chuckled, "out of the ordinary" was normal.

Still standing, his eyes on the screen while his hands held the tray, his thoughts went back to the events that revealed his previous supervisor's love for Sara. He had been surprised—speechless—but later, he realized how happy Sara had been, how Grissom had changed in subtle ways. And he knew—without doubt—that Grissom loved Sara as much as she loved him.

Sara had said this 'separation' was Grissom's suggestion, but there was something else—suddenly, his eyebrows shot upward. Then he scoffed—as he remembered Sara's former co-worker showing up to investigate the plane crash that happened before Christmas. There had been a bit of gossip in the lab, mostly from Hodges, but Nick would bet his retirement pension that Sara Sidle never gave the guy a second thought. But if Hodges managed to talk to Grissom—that conversation might be at the bottom of all this 'separation' and 'not my husband' talk.

He was so worked up, he knew he would never get to sleep; he reached for his phone. Sara's sleep habits had not changed, he knew that. He touched her name on the screen and before the second ring, she answered.

"What are you doing?"

He heard her low laugh. "Thinking about sleep."

"Put it off for a while. Ride with me to the ridge. It's a perfect morning."

He heard another laugh. "I'm really fine, Nick."

"I know you are, hun. But ride with me. I'll have you back in an hour or so."

Everyone close to Nick knew of his spectator love of hang gliding and his fascination at watching the colorful wings lift and sail from a near-by ridge. On occasion, he had taken to the air, gliding solo, but more often, he would jump into a tandem seat and let someone else handle the piloting. Today, he was sure he could call in a favor and get Sara into a tandem and if that didn't cheer her up, he'd think of something else.

He made a couple of calls before he left the house.

Sara was waiting in her driveway and handed him an energy bar as she got into his vehicle. She reached around to the back seat, giving Sam a head rub as the dog nuzzled his nose against her shoulder.

He noticed her finger was missing her wedding band, but decided not to mention it. "You should get another dog, Sara." Nick knew she still missed her dog.

She fastened her seatbelt before she answered. "I didn't want to leave a new dog," she said, and then added, sadness evident in her voice. "I don't guess that matters any more—maybe I'll get a dog."

"You want to talk, I'm available," Nick suggested. "And I don't talk to others."

She gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Nick. I—I appreciate that—I really do." She looked out of the window and sighed. "I really don't know how it happened. We went from talking every day to a few times a week to a few times a month." Her hand lifted to pet the dog's head dropped over her shoulder.

"You know how Grissom is—he'd forget to change socks for a week!"

Sara laughed. "Are you comparing me to his socks, Nick?"

"No—no! Never—but you know how he is! He'll come around—he loves you, Sara!"

She kept her hand on the dog as she said, "He thinks I want another life, Nick." She kept her face turned away from Nick's but he heard her voice tremble.

"Let's talk about something else." While he would listen to anything she said, he didn't want his friend to cry—not while he was driving, anyway. "I've got a friend who'll take you up in a tandem," he suggested.

At first Sara was hesitant to consider or talk about actually getting into "one of the giant dragonflies" but after they watched the third wave of large colorful parachutes float from the ridge above their vantage point, her reluctance began to fade. By the time Nick's friends stopped the pick-up vehicle in the lot, she was beginning to catch some of Nick's excitement.

One of the young men waved them into the Jeep. "It's great up there!"

By the time they reached the ridge, Nick had gotten Sara to agree to a tandem ride if he would go ahead of her. And in the male dominated sport of paragliding and hang gliding, there were multiple hands waiting to help Sara get strapped into the sling seat while others were giving advice and directions on taking off and landing.

"Leave her alone, guys," said the man who was the pilot. He had introduced himself as "Stu" after Nick's introduction had explained he was the best pilot in the area—as well as a surgeon. "Sara, you won't have to do much, just listen to my voice in your ear!" He handed Sara a high-tech helmet. "It's like floating on a breeze."

Thirty minutes later, Nick gave a loud, energized shout as he ran for the edge of the ridge, easily and gently lifting away on a fixed wing hang glider.

"We're next, Sara."

She nodded.

In a few minutes, Sara followed directions whispered in her ear, felt the firm pull of cords tighten as wind filled the enormous parachute, and with a sudden spring forward, she knew she was airborne.

"Relax," Stu said as he pulled on handles near her head. "We're going up—are you game for it?"

"Yes!" She shouted before remembering she had a small microphone in the helmet. "Sorry," she added.

As wind carried them higher, she laughed under her breath. Stu laughed with her as she pointed to the desert far below them. In the distance she could see the ribbon marking of the Colorado River. For a long time, they floated on thermals of air and as Sara began to enjoy the experience of being carried by the wind, feeling the whispering of air against the fully-opened parachute, she sensed a feeling of all was well—for a few minutes. When the pilot told her they would be descending, Sara felt a quiet regret that her flight had ended.

As promised, Nick was waiting, practically jumping up and down as the two easily touched down and ran for several yards while the pilot collapsed the parachute.

"Well, what did you think?" Nick asked as he helped her out of the harness. "I got the last two-three minutes right here!" He held his phone up, laughing and said, "Wait until everyone sees this!"

There were enthusiastic hugs and high-fives from a dozen people at the landing area and Sara laughed as she was good-naturedly teased by Nick's friends as "the only girl he's ever brought out here."

As they left the landing site headed for Nick's vehicle, Sara said, "Thanks, Nick. That was a new and different experience," she smiled, adding, "one I don't think I'll experience again!"

"Didn't you like it?"

"Loved every minute of it—and can't believe I did it!"

They stopped for food at a café for locals, ran into two deputies, and spent an hour talking about recent cases. Only after Nick had dropped Sara off and watched as she entered her house, pausing to wave, did he realize nothing more had been said about her marriage, her husband, or the events of the past week. He knew no more than he had known earlier in the day; but Sara was smiling as she waved.

_A/N: A promise that Chapter 3 will arrive much quicker! We appreciate your reviews and comments!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: And another chapter! This story will not follow season 13..._

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 3**

Finn had purposely stayed near the locker room until almost everyone had left—everyone but Sara who was in D.B.'s office talking about an open case. Finn knew D.B. was going to tell Sara to take the next shift off because she—Finn—had pointed out that Sara was already into double over time for the month. She grinned—the least her supervisor could do was follow her suggestions on how to keep his payroll in line with his budget.

And Finn had asked to be off—she had a plan. "Dump this husband who did not show up for your birthday," had been her suggestion to Sara Sidle after the crap hit the fan with dead guy in a hotel room and the stalker and evidence building against Sara and even then her husband never called to check on her. Even Finn's ex-husband as well as several past boyfriends checked on her occasionally—and Gil Grissom had not even bothered to call again after the birthday message—she had managed to see the list of calls made and received on Sara's phone. Finn rocked back on the bench; amazing how much information one got from one's fellow co-workers with a smile and chest cleavage.

Laughing under her breath, Finn knew she had done some stupid things in her life and lived to regret some and laughed about others, but she could not figure out Sara—and Nick and Greg were closed-mouth about their long-time friend. She had not been working with them but a few weeks when she figured out her usual techniques did not work on them!

David Hodges had been the one to spill the story of the secret romance Sara had with the former lab supervisor who later became her absent husband. And he had provided details about Sara's history—she almost felt guilty about the easy way it had been to manipulate Hodges but the more she got to know him, the less guilt she had! David was a sneaky, devious guy who had a suspiciously protective regard for Gil Grissom. It had taken several attempts before she learned much about Grissom and, even then, it had probably been more gossip than fact. She laughed as she remembered Hodges' story of the dominatrix who Grissom seemed to have a tendency to demonstrate a peculiar and protective behavior for—Finn did not know how much truth was in Hodges' telling and how much he added to the story. But according to Hodges, there had always been a hint that Gil Grissom might not share everything with his wife—and Hodges added the story of a deaf professor who had been involved with Grissom and Sara was in the dark about their history until it came out in the interrogation room.

She was so involved in her thoughts, actually putting herself in Sara's position, that she did not hear Sara enter the locker room and jumped when the metal door rattled when Sara opened it.

"Hey," Sara said in greeting, "you are lost in another world." She reached into the locker and removed her bag.

Smiling, Finn turned and managed to glimpse several photos taped to Sara's locker—all of the husband—before Sara closed the door. The wedding ring had been missing for several days, thought Finn. She said, "Are you up for breakfast? I'm off tonight and think I need more than the usual toast and yogurt."

Sara kept one hand on the closed locker and seemed to study Finn for several long seconds before she answered. "I'm off—too much overtime this month." She sat on the bench and sighed. "I think breakfast would be great—too bad I don't play golf—or tennis." Halfheartedly, she laughed. "I may be pretty bad company—all I talk about is work."

Finn laughed as she mentally marked one success and said, "I know a great place for breakfast—much more than steak and eggs that Nick always eats."

Thirty minutes later, the two women were seated at a table overlooking the fountains of one of the largest casinos in Vegas. Sara was amazed at the way Finn had requested the table, talking to the guy at the door as if she'd known him for years, and giving him orders—ordering drinks before they were seated—and he wasn't a waiter.

Then, as Sara watched in open-mouth awe, Finn said, "Send us that young waiter over there." She pointed to a young man at the far end of the room. "He knows what I want."

The man nodded and swiftly left them, heading to the young waiter.

Sara giggled. "Finn!" She whispered, "Do you know the waiter?"

"Yes, I do." She laughed. "It's not that—I was up here several weeks ago chasing down a guy's whereabouts and talked to the waiter!" She made a smirky grin. "He is cute, isn't he!"

"Yeah, and he looks like he's twenty-three!" Sara shook her head. "Not into young men."

With some difficulty, Finn managed to hide her satisfaction at the direction this conversation was going. "I'm not age restricted at all—when was the last time you were with a young man," she laughed as the waiter appeared at tableside with two tall frosted glasses topped with a pineapple wedge and a colorful straw.

"Menus," he said as he presented one to each woman. "Today's specials…" he carefully listed several items that were not on the menu. Sara watched as Finn flirted and fiddled with the neckline of her shirt; the waiter played along.

After he walked away, Sara smothered her laughter before looking at Finn. "I can't believe you!"

"What?" Finn made a funny face and said, "When—tell me the last time you were with a young guy?" She lifted her glass to her mouth and motioned for Sara to do the same.

Sara, removing the pineapple wedge from the glass, took a long swallow of her beverage before she answered. "A long time," she said as she took another drink before returning the glass to the table.

"Specific—ten years—more?"

Sara shook her head saying, "Longer—I think it was college when I decided to swear off young men." She lifted her eyebrows in surprise as she realized the high alcohol content of the drink had hit her empty stomach and almost immediately caused a light-headed feeling. "Food—I need some food before I slide under the table." She opened the menu.

"Ahhh—come on! College? When you came to Vegas—never Nick or Greg?"

"Nope."

"All those cute cops and you never got laid?!"

"I need food," Sara said, smiling as she lifted a finger in the direction of the watchful young waiter.

Finn quickly ordered and continued her discourse about men. Sara ducked her head, laughing as Finn related her experiences. "Some things you need to experience, Sara! Times have changed—these young guys enjoy older women! There is nothing to be afraid of! It's sex—we have needs!" Finn wanted to add her thoughts about the long-absent husband, but wisely decided to say nothing else.

Sara waved away the offer of another drink, saying "More water, please."

"Bring me another one," Finn said. As soon as the waiter left, she added "I think I'm leaving my number with this guy!"

Sara laughed. "He knows you are law enforcement! He isn't going to call!"

Finn snickered. "So—you do have experience with picking up men!"

Sara pressed her lips together and then spoke, "The first guy I tried to pick up here in Vegas was after a really bad decomp—and he nearly threw up from the smell!" She twisted her mouth in a grimace. "Should have been a clue—it didn't end well."

"Before your bug guy?"

Chuckling, Sara said, "No, but sort of a down time with him."

"What happened—to the young guy?"

Shaking her head, Sara smiled. "He had a girlfriend—serious one—that I ended up meeting while working a case."

This time it was Finn who grimaced. "Unfortunate."

Their plates arrived and the conversation stopped for several minutes but Finn continued as soon as the waiter walked away.

"How did you get over that?" She asked.

Sara laughed and said, "Catherine took me out for a drink—which turned into a long stretch of over-indulging—and I'm not going there again."

"Well, we need to find another way to get over the hubby," Finn said in a whisper. She leaned across the table, saying "Find another man! It'll make you forget this Grissom guy—or at least put him out of your mind for a while!"

Finn looked completely pleased with her suggestion as she picked up her fork and began to eat.

Suddenly, Sara found she could not swallow a bite of food. She sipped water and turned to look at the fountains outside. At one time, she and Grissom had taken early morning walks by this place, sharing dreams of things they would do one day. Her fingers went to her mouth, covering her trembling lips. She no longer heard the mindless chatter of what Finn was saying.

Somehow she made it through the meal without crying or attracting Finn's unwanted attention to the uneaten food she pushed around the plate. She mumbled responses that kept Finn talking about past boyfriends until the check was placed on the table. Driving home, carefully because she knew she had not eaten enough food after consuming the fruity high-alcohol content beverage, she felt waves of nausea rolling her stomach.

By the time Sara pulled into her driveway, the nausea was becoming a suppressed gag and she opened the vehicle door and vomited onto the pavement. "Gross," she said as she spit and wiped her mouth, and then remained in her car for ten minutes before getting out to clean up the mess. Finally, she went inside the house, dreading the loneliness of the empty house.

She checked for the light colored thread she had secured in place at the upper corner of her door. Even after her security system had been replaced, she had decided to use the oldest trick in the book as a precaution.

Instead of going to bed, she drank juice and ate an energy bar and then decided to clean—the house was rarely dirty or even slightly dusty but she cleaned with the energy of a team of Merry Maids. She attacked dust motes and soap scum with long-developed organizational tactics and after two hours, she crawled into a clean bed and slept.

She dreamed of her father, of playing on a beach, of picking up shells, and then she was grown and it was not her father, but Gil who was holding her hand and laughing. "Come with me," she heard her husband's voice with such clarity that she woke clutching the extra pillow on the bed.

The smell of cleanser hit her nose and she remembered she was alone in a beautiful house she had tried to make a home.

_A/N: Thank you for taking time to read and to comment-where have the GSR fans gone? _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: And now Greg!_

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 4**

Greg Sanders pressed the door bell again. He had given Sara time to sleep—and even if she was sleeping he wanted to wake her up. For days, he had watched and mostly avoided making eye contact with her because he knew she was miserable and certainly did not seem to want to talk about her marriage or her husband—or anything else that had happened. Then Nick mentioned he had taken her hang-gliding.

He had fruit smoothies from Sara's favorite place and a recent movie. He rang the doorbell again. Through the frosted glass, he saw a shadowed figure coming to the door.

"Greg!" Sara's delight easily showed on her face. "Thank goodness it's you."

"Were you expecting someone else?"

Sara laughed. "Finn took me to breakfast." She opened the door and motioned him inside. "I'm happy to see you."

Handing her the smoothie, he said, "First—I'm sorry, Sara. For everything. I haven't been a very good friend lately. I should have helped you with Basderic instead of you going after him alone. And—and about Grissom—you should have told me weeks ago. What are friends for?"

She took the smoothie and gave him a pat on the back. "Come in, friend." The sound she made was supposed to be a laugh but was more of a grump. "You are more than welcome to listen to my silence."

Greg handed her the movie. "Just out and Denzel!"

With a smoothie in one hand, accepting the movie with the other, she motioned toward a chair. "Is this good?"

"I haven't watched it—everyone says it's great!" He sat down as did Sara. While she read the back of the movie case, both drank the smoothies.

Sara finally said, "Sounds good—I don't think it will be shown on any flights!" She laughed, "And this is the best smoothie in town."

"Frozen bananas—that's what makes them so good. No ice, just fruit." Greg make slurping sounds with his straw as he reached the bottom of the cup. "You want me to put the movie on?"

"I should water my plants first, so come out back with me."

Greg followed. He marveled at the clean, orderly house that Sara kept—always. She and Grissom had celebrated the purchase of the house with a small party and he had seen it change with Sara's decorating style into a beautiful home. She had done the same with the yard, growing plants suited for the desert, adding a small vegetable garden near the patio. These were the plants she watered using a recycling system of rain and laundry water.

"How did you figure this out?" He asked as she connected a hose to a large container. He knew Grissom had not been home long enough to do the installation.

"Saw it in Costa Rica when I was there where water conservation is a must—even in a rainforest! So instead of letting usable water run into the sewer, I found a guy who re-worked the downspouts and plumbing for the washer." She proudly pointed to her lush garden. "And the vegetables love it!" She handed a second bucket to him for filling.

Greg helped her fill the bucket. "Where is Grissom, Sara?"

"Same place he's been—Peru—for over two years." She stood, lifting a bucket, and headed to the garden. "He loves it there—more butterflies than Costa Rica, more rainforest, more untouched land, fewer people." Carefully, she poured water around the plants.

Greg passed her the second bucket and went to refill the empty one, doing this several times until the soil was soaked around each plant. He watched as Sara kneeled in the garden and continued watering, removing dead leaves, and examining plants, finally raking her hands over several plants which released a sweet, delicate aroma—something familiar.

"What is that?" He asked.

"Basil—the pesto you've eaten," Sara answered. She raked her hand across another plant. "Rosemary," quickly, she glanced at Greg. "I wore rosemary the day we married," her hand circled her head. She smiled, "Even Gil had a sprig on his shirt."

Surprised that she mentioned her wedding, Greg crouched down and stacked the two buckets together. He knew the wistful, reflective way she spoke meant she would say more; he remained sitting on his heels.

And she continued, "We were happy, Greg. Even after I came back to Vegas and the lab, we were happy. Even with the flying back and forth—I know we were happy." She bent to removed several leaves from another plant. "Even when he went to Peru—he wanted to work there and that was fine. He was so excited—he would call and tell me everything! We saw each other at least once a month." She sighed and her hand moved back to row of fragrant rosemary.

Softly, Greg asked, "What happened?"

Quickly, her mouth formed a downward turn; her eyes filled with sudden tears. Her voice trembled. "I said I didn't want to sleep alone—I—I wanted Gil to come home—just for a while—for a few weeks." She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before she touched the rosemary again. "Once I thought I'd have a little girl and name her Rosemary."

Her words came as such a surprise to Greg that he momentarily lost his balance. The buckets clattered as he tried to regain balance and he ended up with his butt on the ground and one foot in the air.

Sara laughed, gracefully rising, and offering him her hand. "Let's go watch that movie. Didn't mean to startle you with—with a dream that won't happen."

Greg managed to stumble to his feet, knowing his face had gone pink with astonishment at her disclosure.

Quietly, Sara said, "Does it really surprise you that much? Almost every woman wants children—I just waited too long." She kept his hand in hers, wrapping her fingers around his as they walked toward the house.

Greg did not know what to say realizing he had never given a thought to the possibility that Sara wanted children. And he could not bring himself to ask the question that came to his mind—was this what had happened—the cause? As he followed her into the house, he knew without doubt that Sara and Grissom would be good parents. Puzzled, he recalled Sara's words "waited too long"—and that confused him even more.

Sara squeezed his hand; he heard a soft laugh. She said, "Gil and I had a lot of fun trying—but we ran out of time. You've heard of a woman's biological clock—well, mine seems to have shut down about the time we got married."

"Is this the reason? For—for what's happened?" Greg asked. He said it before he thought and immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry—I—I should not have asked that."

She shook her head, saying "No—no, we had moved on—that was the big reason I came back. Found out nothing was working as it should," she gave a cheerless laugh. "Sort of ironic, isn't it? We were so careful." She laughed again as she turned on the faucet and washed her hands. "You don't want to hear all of that female stuff. Let's watch the movie."

Greg followed her to the sink. He asked, "What's Grissom doing—in Peru?"

As they dried hands, Sara smiled. "He is having such a great experience, Greg!" A sudden genuine smile crossed her face. "Let me show you—it really is fascinating."

Greg was surprised that she spoke with such pride and apparent pleasure.

Waving her hand, he trailed behind her as she headed to the room he knew was Grissom's office. There was no doubt the room had been decorated for the entomologist who seldom used the desk. Framed insects decorated the walls; models and other things Greg had seen for years in his former supervisor's office sat on shelves. He knew Sara had used the dining room as she tracked Basderic so she would not disturb her husband's office.

She powered up the computer and while waiting, she sat a box on the desk. "Gil sends a box every month." Removing padding before pulling small containers out of the box, Sara opened a box and held it for Greg to see a small beetle. "He's finding insects the world has never seen—no photographs published before his!" She opened another box. Inside was an iridescent butterfly no larger than her fingernail. "The ones he sends home are ones already identified—one day he watched a rare butterfly for hours knowing it was dying but so excited that he got to see its last hours!"

Greg noticed she had said "home" and obviously Grissom was still sending her boxes of bugs. She turned to the computer and pulled up a website for a research institute in Peru. Several clicks got to thumbnails of photographs; he managed to read the name of the institute. Sara showed him photographs of dozens of insects.

"It is a rare privilege to be asked to work with this research station because it is so remote," she said as she clicked through more photographs. "He—his work with the anthropology group—when they were working on the Moche graves—got so much recognition." Her voice struggled to say something more.

Softly, Greg said, "I know you're proud of him."

She nodded. "Yeah, I am." Several minutes of silence followed before she spoke again. "The area is so remote—he—he has—cell phones don't work very well." She cleared her throat. "In December when I flew down, I didn't get to see him."

"What?" Greg knew she was gone for two weeks and had returned with gifts for everyone in the lab.

"The river was too high to navigate with the boats they use. The roads were washed out." She sighed. "I stayed—hoping, I guess, for a miracle. For Gil to get there." She looked at Greg. "The research center is a half-day boat ride and then another day's drive on a road that's barely a road."

"I'm sure he was—was trying—disappointed—he couldn't get there."

Sara scoffed, "Yeah, and before I left he sent me a text telling me he wanted to 'set me free'—what do you think that means?"

Greg had no answer, finally saying "Let's watch that movie."

They watched the movie without much conversation and then only comments that related to what was on the screen. Greg could not concentrate; he had learned where Grissom was and what he was doing. He knew Sara loved her husband and Grissom was sending boxes of insects to her. And Sara wanted children. He had no clue what 'set me free' meant—why would Grissom say that to the woman he loved?

As he was leaving, he said, "You know I love you, Sara." She smiled. "And I'll do anything for you—but you have to let me in. You have to talk to me."

Unexpectedly, she hugged him, whispering, "Thank you, Greg." She smiled as she waved good-bye.

Driving away, Greg tried to put Sara's comments in context and realized he knew little more now than he had known days ago. But he pressed Nick's number; two heads would be better than one when solving a mystery.

_A/N: Thank you for reading and your comments/reviews! More to come...two more people attempt to mend Sara's broken heart. We think one will be a surprise to most readers! Thanks so much!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Enjoy!_

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 5**

"Everything's done here, Sara." Jim Brass said as he opened the door of his car. "Come eat with me," he suggested as he motioned for her to get in.

Sara laughed, saying "Is it your turn, Jim? Everyone is trying to feed me."

His deep chuckle caused Sara to widen her smile. He said, "Yep—my turn. And we're going to talk about all of this." He winked. "A girl needs a confessor. Get in."

"I'm fine—I really am."

"I'm not. Get in." He held the door open and reached for her case. "Greg and Morgan can get all of this back to the lab." He leaned near her ear and, in a whisper, said, "I think Greg has a thing for Morgan."

Sara laughed as she crawled into the front seat while he put her case behind her. She knew Jim was her friend; she also knew he was one of the few people her husband named as a friend.

When he got behind the wheel, Jim said, "I know a great chicken and waffles place—I'll eat chicken and you can eat waffles! How's that?"

Sara laughed again and closed her eyes as she leaned back in the seat. She had decided there was a department conspiracy to feed her every day. Her day off had been quietly spent running errands and visiting her mother and her mother-in-law. One woman, her mother, rarely knew what day it was; the other, Betty Grissom, was well-aware of everything—almost everything. She was more than a little perturbed that her son had not been in Vegas in months; it bothered her that he chose to spend so much time in an isolated place, but at least she no longer blamed Sara. So Sara had spent most of an hour assuring her that Gil was doing well.

With Jim, she thought she would be doing the same thing. "I'm fine, Jim. Gil is fine. He sent a birthday message. I—I'll probably hear from him again at some point."

Brass grumbled under his breath, "You are always fine, Sara. And if Grissom had any idea of what's been going on, he would not be fine."

"Oh, Jim," Sara sighed. "I haven't told him any of this—you know that." She shrugged, saying "I'm not sure he cares any longer. What else do you want to know?"

Her response caused Brass to laugh. "Once I told him that if he hurt you I'd hunt him down wherever he was and take care of business. Do I need to do that?"

Shaking her head, she laughed. "Even you would have trouble finding him!"

Together, they laughed and waited out stalled traffic, talking about weather, traffic, and tourists.

Later, after a plate of fried chicken and waffles was in front of Jim, a plate of waffles and fruit in front of Sara, he quickly spoke of his concerns.

"Years ago, I left my wife—unlike Gil, I had good reasons and lots of them. The way I did it was a mistake—I know that now. I don't want the same thing happening to you—I don't need to know what's gone on between you two, Sara, but things should be settled—talked out beforehand." He took the syrup she passed. "Do you need anything? Money, for instance?"

"I'm okay with money."

He spread butter over a waffle before saying, "I know you have the house—I know you've spent money getting your mom here." His brow wrinkled as he lifted his eyes. "I'll help if you'll let me."

Sara placed her fork on her plate and laced her fingers together. It seemed everyone in the lab knew what she had said about her husband; she was sure everyone had noticed she was no longer wearing a wedding ring. With a friendship of years, Jim had earned the right to know more than most.

She said, "You know Gil saved a lot of money, invested well over the years. He doesn't have financial worries and most of it is in joint accounts—his decision." She sighed and seemed to collect her thoughts. "I—I really don't understand any of this—what's happened between us. I know we were happy! Any time we were together, even when we were not—we were happy! We talked, we were excited about what he was doing—he enjoyed hearing about everyone in the lab." She turned away, looking out of the window for several minutes before she continued. "Here's what I don't understand—he—he sent me an email saying he was taking some money out of an account. In the same email, he said he wanted to 'set me free' and that I should move on with my life." Tears welled and she closed her eyes. "That was back in December after I had gone to Peru." She looked at him. "Have you talked to Greg?"

Jim shook his head, "no".

"I didn't see Gil in December—river was too high, road was washed out—when we talked, I said I didn't want to sleep alone. That was it—I wanted him to come home for a while. We talked again and he said he would try to come for my birthday—we had a lot to talk about. I knew something wasn't right, but he wouldn't talk. We made plans—I honestly thought he would show up that night." She picked up her fork. "But he didn't come. I ended up—I celebrated alone and then all hell broke out with Basderic."

"The money—did he say why he wanted the money? Was it a lot of money?"

Sara's forehead creased with a frown. She said, "It was—nearly forty thousand—and he had it transferred to a bank in Peru."

"No explanation as to what it was for? That's a lot of money." Brass was caught off-guard by the money; Grissom had always been frugal about money. He asked, "He never gave you any hint as to why you should move on?"

When she shook her head, Brass suddenly had a dreadful thought; he said, "I have an idea—did you mention your friend—what's his name? Dave? Doug?" He chewed on a piece of chicken and then said, "I know Gil has always been apprehensive—maybe a better word is concerned—by your age difference. Do you think…"

Sara had not taken a bite of food as he talked. Thoughtfully, she said "Honestly, I might have mentioned Doug—just that he was here—but surely Gil would not…" her voice faded to nothing.

Jim cut his waffle and shrugged. "You know, Sara, men are funny. And Gil Grissom has never been the great communicator. You two need to talk—in person—not a text message, not email, not Skype." He chuckled, "There is no hope for any of us if you two can't make it."

She spread her hands, saying "I thought we were doing fine. We've never been a conventional couple—even when we married—which was Gil's idea." She made a soft laugh. "I've been so puzzled and confused—and depressed, I'll admit—by all of this." She shook her head, biting her lip as she looked around the restaurant. "I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Then the other stuff that happened—I wasn't thinking—I know I did some foolish things. But I never cheated on Gil, Jim."

He smiled. "I know you didn't, honey."

"Does everyone else think so?"

Emphatically, he said, "No, no! No one believes you would cheat—no one." He grinned, saying, "Maybe David Hodges, but we all know what kind of gossip he is."

"He thinks Gil is a god."

His deep moan was a comforting sound to Sara.

Jim said, "Hodges is a fool about a lot of things." He indicated that she should eat. "Sara, does Hodges have Gil's phone number or email? It would be just like him to send along any 'gossip' around the lab." Brass used his fork as a pointer. "Including embellishing how you and Doug worked together and perhaps suggesting more in his own version."

Before he finished, Sara was shaking her head. "Doug was here before I left for Peru in December. We had—it had been difficult for us for several months, but only because of distance—nothing else. When Gil decided to go to the research center in the rainforest, we knew it would be remote, difficult getting in and out, but we knew that! Cell phones, internet are sporadic at best—we knew we would go from talking every day to—to whenever we could." She attacked her waffles with her knife and fork, cutting bite sizes pieces but she did not eat any of it. "We—for lack of a better description—we grew apart but I thought it was because we were not talking on a regular basis. Gil never mentioned Hodges—I can't believe it would be something he said!"

Jim ate while she talked. "Why did you stay, Sara? Here in Vegas?"

Her mouth formed a taut grin. "You know how it is—I came for a few months that turned into years. I wasn't qualified for most of the grants—and Gil was. It's his dream." She shrugged. "His mother was here. The condo—then we bought the house—we had Hank." She made a soft laugh. "You don't think you have much baggage, but you always do. And we decided Vegas would be home."

Laughing softly, shaking her head, she said "A year passed so quickly—then two years—we kept telling each other our marriage was working." Tears filled her eyes again. "He is the only man I'll ever love, Jim."

"You need to see him, talk this out," Brass said before he chuckled. "He found you; you need to find him. Let him tell you in person what this means." He picked up a piece of chicken. "This is good. You know—because of you, Gil changed. He's forgotten—got busy chasing bugs—what it is to be with you."

Sara stabbed a bite of waffle but never brought it to her mouth. Pensively, she said, "Maybe that's what I should do" and then stronger, "that's what I should do." As she tried to smile, her face crumpled as tears flowed. "Sorry," she whispered, "it's so hard for me to talk about us."

Brass reached for his handkerchief and passed it across the table. He did not want to admit his own confusion, so he said, "Things will work out, Sara. But don't let this continue. You don't want to live the next twenty years in—in uncertainty because of a misunderstanding."

"You really think I should go?"

"Yes—go talk to the guy." He made a smile that turned into a grimace. "And keep my phone number handy—I may need to help you out."

Sara smiled and said, "Tell me, Jim—why have you never had another wife—or a long time girlfriend? You really are a great guy."

His chuckle came with a head shake and in a few minutes became a rare laugh. "Too many women to count, dear! The ones I wanted didn't want me—the ones that wanted me—I did not want."

Sara laughed.

Later, when he left her at her home, she smiled after giving him a heartfelt hug. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you for everything but most of all for being our friend."

As he drove away, Brass realized he was even more confused; none of this sounded like Grissom—not the man he had worked with for two decades. He could name the women on one hand who had attracted Grissom's interest for longer than fifteen minutes. And the money—why would Grissom need forty thousand dollars in the middle of a jungle?

He flipped on the police scanner to see what was happening and as he listened, a thought occurred to him. Had Grissom become involved with another woman? Was he living in a rainforest with a Sara doppelganger? Jim laughed at his thoughts—he could not comprehend the thought of Gil Grissom with another woman. No more than Sara with another man.

Hearing a call for assistance on the scanner, he radioed in. "I can be there in three," he said and flipped on his lights.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed our Brass chapter! Thanks so much for reading and commenting. Next chapter-one more person attempts to mend Sara's broken heart! (Not LH!) Thanks...your reviews will encourage another chapter!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: The last person to attempt to mend Sara's broken heart...short one because...you will see! _

**How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 6**

"Come in, Sara. Glad I could catch you before you left. Can I get you something?"

Sara shook her head, "No, thanks," and took the indicated chair.

"I've been meaning to talk with you for some time—it stays busy, doesn't it?"

"Yes, we do." Puzzled, yet not surprised by her summons to Conrad Ecklie's office, Sara settled into the chair and started processing her thoughts, telling herself to remain calm and answer his questions.

"I've got something to discuss—talk over with you—get your thoughts," Ecklie said. "How are you doing? After all you've been through—it has to be tough for you but I think we all appreciate how you've bounced back."

Sara didn't know what to say, so she nodded. Perhaps, she thought, this was going to be a 'go back to work and don't cause trouble' pep talk. She and Conrad Ecklie had a checkered past—influenced by several confrontations as Ecklie climbed the political ladder. She readily admitted her quick temper had caused an escalation of some of their conflicts, and she had also taken Grissom's viewpoint on several occasions which added to the tension.

However, when she agreed to return to the lab—Ecklie had asked for her help—the past seemed to be behind them. He had never mentioned any of their arguments and had been very generous and gracious when she had requested time off.

With what had happened with Taylor Wynard and Basderic, Sara was fairly certain this 'chat' would not be gracious or sociable.

"Water? Coffee?" He asked as he turned to the wall of cabinets behind him.

"Water would be good" Sara answered. He produced a bottle of water from a small refrigerator and passed it across the desk. Sara noticed several folders on his desk; one was her personnel jacket.

Ecklie settled back into his chair. He said, "I'm sure you've heard about some changes—I know there has been a lot of talk—about some things I want to do."

She nodded even though she had heard nothing about changes—of course, her attention had been elsewhere.

He opened her folder, saying "You are a good CSI, Sara. Along with Nick Stokes, you have shown real leadership, excellent guidance in your relationship with others." He shuffled several papers. "And I really appreciate how you handled coming back, working with D.B. when he arrived. It really shows an attitude I appreciate."

Sara had no idea where he was going with all of this; she remained quiet.

Ecklie continued, "My plan—which I hope to have in place in July—is to put you and Stokes in as team leaders. D.B. will be lab supervisor—you'll report to him. Finn is going to be covering blood splatter as needed and working as relief for you and Nick."

Sara had almost missed the part about "team leaders" as she tried to second-guess what Ecklie was up to. She leaned forward, trying to disguise the surprise on her face.

Ecklie noticed. "I've already gotten approval to hire three new CSIs for the night shift—Greg and Morgan will be with you and Nick, plus one or two new people, depending on the case load." He turned a paper so she could see it, but Sara had already read his new organizational chart. Each shift would have two team leaders, several slots indicated new positions—new people.

Smiling, Sara nodded. She wasn't going to disagree with him and maybe this was needed due to caseloads but it reminded her of the time he had split up Grissom's team.

Ecklie cleared his throat and turned his chart away from her, "I want you to think about this—if you want to do it. It gets our staffing up to levels we should have had several years ago." He shuffled papers again. "What do you think?"

"Great—just great." She did not know what else to say but she smiled again.

"Good! You have time to give me some input—that's good. I want to be up and going in July so we'll have time to fill the new slots." He closed several folders, smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Now—how is everything going for you?"

"Good," Sara replied. Inwardly, she cringed but kept a smile on her face. She knew this was coming—an official reprimand or at least an off-the-record dressing down for all the trouble she had caused.

"Well, I wanted to say—I know you've had a difficult time with—with—ah—I've heard a little about—about…"

Sara knew his stumbling with words would only prolong this conversation. She held up her hand and said, "Gil and I have—we've been going through a rough spot, Conrad. I don't really—most of it has been with emails and text messages. It's—it's sort of difficult to actually talk with him since he's been at a remote research station. Difficult to see each other."

Ecklie frowned, saying, "I can appreciate that—the difficulty." He ran a hand across his face. "You really pulled us out of a bind when you returned, Sara. I don't think I've ever thanked you for that." He shuffled papers again. "I never expected you to stay—and I appreciate that you did."

Sara decided to remain quiet while Ecklie flipped papers. She wasn't sure what he was thinking—or going to say next.

Finally, he said, "Sara, what if I give you some time off—a month—give you time to work things out with Gil. Go to—to Brazil or wherever it is—Peru—and have some time together." He smiled, or grimaced, Sara wasn't sure.

Sara was so surprised, she almost said "Did I understand you correctly?" But she closed her mouth before a word escaped.

He continued, "When we change things in July, I don't want you distracted. Call me selfish—but my motive is two-fold. I've known Gil for twenty years," he chuckled. "He can stick his head in a project and doesn't know what day it is—why don't you go remind him?"

Five minutes later, Sara left Ecklie's office in a daze. She was surprised on so many levels it took several minutes for her brain to process past the offer of a month away from the lab—a month. She smiled; Jim was right. She would go to Gil—she would fly to Peru, find a way to get to the research station—just as he had done in Costa Rica. She started compiling a list of things she needed to do. A month, she thought. If she could not set things right between them in a month, then she'd do as Gil had suggested—she would move on with her life.

_A/N: And Sara is off! She knows who can mend her heart...a warning: some of you will be ready to throw rotten tomatoes at us! Please stick with us-we believe in happy endings! More reviews = next chapter quickly. _


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: And Sara is on her way..._

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 7**

Sara learned there was a long way and a longer way to the research center and both ways were difficult. Leaving Lima, she flew into Iquitos—the largest city in the world where no roads connect it to other cities—and, seeing the lakes and rivers surrounding the area, she understood why both routes to her husband involved boats.

The next day, she stuffed her duffle over her seat in a small bus that would take her to a much smaller town where she could catch a supply boat to the center. The road weaved along an old mining route that was paved in places and washed out gravel in other places. Roadside vegetation pressed in and above the road in a riot of green that would take one's breath away. At times vegetation opened up to a swift flowing river or a white braid of water tumbling into a crevice. No one seemed to notice because most tourists did not take this route.

The bus stopped at a half-way point, passengers piled out with men walking a distance down the dirt road while the women headed around to the back of the bus.

Quickly, Sara understood—a bathroom break—and joined the other women. By early afternoon, the bus pulled into the small town finding a dozen passengers waiting for the return journey. She knew this was the literal end of the road. Off loading her bag, she tossed it across her back and headed to the sixteen-room hotel she had found on the internet and was pleasantly surprised to find the place exactly as pictured on its website—clean bed, hot water in the bathroom, a ceiling fan.

Her contact for the supply boat had left a note saying they would leave at sunrise the next morning. She quickly learned her Spanish, while helpful, was not the same spoken dialect as she had heard and used in Lima and Iquitos. But with quick thinking, she produced pen and paper; proficient enough to write in Spanish, she sent a return note to the boat operator and then asked for directions to a _restaurante_ before settling into her room.

After she ate a meal of quinoa soup, seasoned rice, and a pickled salad of olives, hearts of palm, onions, and boiled eggs, exhaustion gripped her body so quickly that she barely made it to her room and into the shower before she literally fell into bed as her eyes closed in exhaustion.

The next morning, before daylight, Sara left her door key in a basket by the front door, picked up a bag of fried sweet dough, several bottles of water, and made her way to the dock where a long boat, barely more than a double canoe, was stacked with boxes. Two men, expecting a passenger, placed her duffle bag on a make-shift seat and within minutes, the boat was pushed into the river; its outboard motor sputtered a few times before it started and then they were in the current of one of the many rivers flowing through the Amazon rainforest.

Sara had not allowed herself to think about the future after she had made the decision to go to Peru. She would get to the research center, the initial meeting with her husband, and then think about the future—hers or theirs. Riding in the open boat, she kept her mind from jumping ahead by watching the unbroken Amazon canopy; she counted birds. In less than three hours, going with the current, she would arrive at the research center—this was the short route. They passed occasional signs that humans were living along the river—several fishermen, a clearing with a cluster of small buildings on stilts—one of the men explained:

"To keep people working without destroying the land."

For the first time, Sara realized she did not have to speak Spanish to the boatman—his English was nearly flawless. She turned around, smiled, and asked where he had learned English.

"Pennsylvania," he said; his smile showing a row of white teeth, "went to school there, but didn't like the cold weather."

For the next hour, he served as a historical tour guide, explaining the recent history of the area, the national and world protection given to the rainforest, and the efforts made to get locals involved in sustainable projects without destroying their home. Answering her questions and pointing to wildlife along the river, she realized he wasn't just working a supply boat but was trying to save his country.

"We are almost there," he said, pointing to a bend in the river. "Just around the bend, you'll see the center."

As she turned around, the boat's motor whined as it cut across the river current and she glimpsed a cluster of cone-shaped roofs poking above the riverbank canopy. A few minutes later, she stepped onshore and climbed a footpath lined with purple hibiscus and red and yellow heliconius. Before she reached the top of the embankment, several people, a man and three women, were headed to the boat, extending hands to help her up.

"Sara—Sara Grissom," she introduced herself as a tall, balding man greeted her with a smile. He was the one person who knew she might arrive on the supply boat.

"It's so good to meet you, Sara! I'm Sean McNeese—and you've arrived in the middle of a small crisis," he said. He quickly introduced the three native women who were with him; none seemed to be taken by surprise at an unexpected guest.

Sara knew Sean was the project director who had lived in the country for a decade and he was the person who had been instrumental in getting Grissom a position at the center. "Crisis?" She asked, a frown creased her forehead.

The man laughed. "We have a small cacao crop we were hoping to send back today—so everyone is out packing pods! Even Gil!" He waved to the two boatmen. "He isn't expecting you so this is going to be a surprise!" Quickly, he turned to one of the native women, speaking in a language that Sara did not understand, but when the woman turned to Sara, she spoke in a fragmented Spanish.

Sara understood the offer of a drink and followed the woman along the path to a row of elevated buildings and an open-air kitchen-dining hall sitting two dozen feet above the clearing. Behind the larger buildings were smaller structures; Sara noticed, as she climbed stairs, all were connected by porches and elevated walkways, spaced along the walkway in clusters of three or four smaller buildings. Individual cottages, Sara thought, remembering a description by Grissom.

In a few minutes she was served a cool pink beverage and given a damp white washcloth. The woman, smiling as she spoke her native language with a sprinkling of Spanish, motioned for Sara to wipe her face and hands. A few minutes later, the woman indicated Sara was to remain at one of the table while she poured additional drinks for the two boatmen. Sara, happy to have her feet on a solid floor after being in the boat, stayed seated and slowly finished her drink while taking in her surroundings.

The place had the appearance of a well-organized village; she could hear the low hum of a generator. She glanced upward to see several fans slowly turning. Most of the buildings had solar panels on the roof, and based on the temperature of her drink, there was a refrigerator or cooler in the kitchen.

She watched the activity along the shoreline as the two boatmen hauled boxes up the footpath and two of the women and Sean McNeese stacked and sorted the boxes. From their laughter and familiar interactions, she knew they had done this many times. Suddenly, the women stopped what they were doing, looking in the direction of a group of buildings. As one of the women headed toward the houses, Sara heard what had gotten their attention.

A baby was crying.

The woman disappeared into one of the elevated houses—from what Sara could see, it appeared to be a two-room dwelling rather than a house. Windows and doors were screened, but she could see the woman moving around inside. A few minutes later, the woman reappeared with a baby securely wrapped in a shawl across her chest. As Sara smiled, the woman turned.

The woman was carrying two babies, one attached to her chest, the other to her back. Small babies, Sara thought, and twins—she grimaced as she thought about having a baby in a place so far away from any kind of medical assistance and modern conveniences.

The woman waved to the others and began to make her way toward the dining room and to Sara. A few minutes later, the woman slipped the shawl from her back and laid the baby on the table near Sara. A few words and hand motions between the two women and Sara understood she could pick up the dark-haired baby.

The baby wiggled and a tiny foot appeared out of its swaddled wrappings. Carefully, Sara unwrapped the colorful shawl to a cascade of baby gurgles, waving arms and kicking legs. She glanced at the mother who was watching as she nursed the baby on her chest. The woman smiled and nodded in response to Sara's smile. The baby was dressed in a cotton shirt and a cloth diaper covering—Sara was surprised because most babies in remote areas were bare-bottomed. Openly, she admired the diaper; the mother nodded, obviously proud of this piece of infant clothing.

The woman said something Sara did not understand. "I'm sorry—no comprende." Sara said.

The woman pointed to the baby she was nursing, pushing the wrapping away from the infant's head as she said something else. Again, Sara did not understand, but intuition told her the woman was saying she was nursing two babies. Sara smiled. And then she saw the nursing baby's blond hair. Sara smiled, realizing the woman was a wet nurse for an unmistakable Caucasian infant. The baby on the table was as brown as a coffee bean; black eyes and straight black hair gave no doubt to an Indian heritage.

She turned to the baby squirming on the table who was making fretful sounds. Sara leaned over and held her finger out for the baby to grasp, immediately rewarded with a happy gurgle as tiny fingers closed over hers.

The woman said something else Sara did not understand; the woman spoke a second time, slower, and Sara managed to catch several Spanish words—mother, son. The woman pointed to the baby on the table. Sara nodded, saying "Madre—you" she pointed to the woman and then the baby, "hijo".

A broad smile appeared on the woman's face. She pointed to the baby she was nursing, saying "hija" and pointed to Sara.

Confused for a moment, Sara realized the woman was trying to tell her the nursing baby belonged to another white woman. She smiled and nodded her head.

Using a technique that appeared complicated to Sara, but performed with ease, the mother-wet nurse managed to shift the nursing baby to her shoulder, rearrange the shawl covering the baby, and indicated she wanted Sara to hold the baby girl. Glancing around, Sara realized it would be extremely rude not to take the baby so she held out her arms and accepted the little swaddled baby. Within a few seconds, arms were wiggling out of the covering and reaching toward Sara's face; Sara laughed as tiny fingers grabbed at a lock of hair. The baby was beautiful—plump pink cheeks, unblemished skin, wispy blonde hair—and when a toothless smile appeared on the baby's face, Sara felt a rush of accomplishment, even if the smile had nothing to do with her.

The other baby had been picked up and was grunting and smacking as he began nursing. Sara realized he was bigger than the little girl she held. She laughed again as the baby girl touched her face in what seemed to be an attempt to attract Sara's attention. For the first time in weeks, Sara's mind cleared of all thoughts as she held the baby, making playful nonsense sounds for the sole purpose of entertaining a tiny bundle of humanity. So involved, she did not notice the arrival of Sean McNeese until he was standing at the table, red-faced and sweating, and speaking rapidly to the woman nursing the baby who was shaking her head giving him negative answers to his questions.

Turning to Sara, he said, "You've met the two little ones—Luis," he indicated the woman and the nursing infant. "And Rosita," he reached to touch the baby Sara held and looked across the clearing. "Ah—and here's your husband!"

Sara turned and stood, seeing a very familiar figure hurrying across the open area. One of the women who had met the boat was beside him. She stepped away from the table, still holding the baby, and lifted her arm to wave. Even at a distance, Sara could clearly see her husband's face—surprised—no, it wasn't surprise, she thought. Something else—a frown crossed her face as she watched, astonished—he appeared to be frightened. More than frightened, she realized.

Gil Grissom was terrified.

_A/N: Finally, Sara gets to Grissom. More to come! This one is 10 chapters. Thanks for reading and your comments._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: And another chapter, short one, so review and another one appears! Stay with us..._

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 8**

"Sara," her name came as a whisper as Grissom stepped from the long staircase onto the deck of the open dining area.

The woman with him took the baby from Sara's arms, easily juggling the baby as she made cheery sounds, and quietly, swiftly, everyone left the couple. Hesitation and uncertainty delayed Sara for a few seconds before she was moving forward and her husband stretched out his arms as she reached him.

"Gil—Gil—I've missed you," she whispered, "more than I can say." Her arms surrounded and hugged him tightly.

Her husband did the same and quickly, their lips touched in a kiss that lingered; in all the years since their first kiss, Sara had never forgotten the sweetness of his breath, the tenderness of his lips. The memory bounced into reality as the kiss was effortlessly prolonged.

Yet even as Sara kissed him, as she kept her arms around him, she knew something was very wrong—not the surprise, nor the long separation—but a subtle reluctance as he embraced her, as he kissed her. She pushed the thought back; it was the unexpected surprise at her arrival.

She kept him in her arms, saying "I had to come, Gil. I had to see you—to talk—we need to talk—about everything. I wasn't ready to—to move on with my life." Tears had filled her eyes; her voice hoarse with emotion as she realized he had spoken similar words to her once.

Grissom, even as Sara felt his hesitancy, soothed her, saying "You are right, you were right to come. I've waited too long. We need to talk." His hands threaded into Sara's hair and he held her tightly against his shoulder. "We need to talk," he whispered.

The voice Sara heard was unsteady, wavering, weak with exhaustion; if she had not been holding his body, strong and solid, in her arms, she would have immediately thought he was ill.

"We'll talk," she whispered and let him go, yet holding his hands as she backed away. She lifted her hand to his flushed face, "You're hot—do you need something to drink?"

"Yes—yes," he said, "you, too. You've just arrived? How long has it taken to get here? You must have left Vegas three-four days ago." He led her toward the kitchen area and filled two metal cups with water. "You must have come in the supply boat. You look good—great. How was the river? It's an amazing part of the world, isn't it?" He handed her the cup and motioned to another table. "The weather was clear for you, right? It is good to see you, Sara."

Sara knew something was wrong; Gil Grissom was talking too much.

He asked, "How was the boat trip? Are you hungry? You must be hungry—lunch is usually ready by one o'clock but today it may be later. The cocoa—cacao—it's ready to go to market. We've—that's where I've been all morning." His voice faded out for a few seconds. "How are you, Sara?"

"I'm fine, Gil. How are you?"

Wiping a hand across his face, he looked away from her, saying "I'm—I'm fine."

She knew he was not being truthful. And immediately, she decided she had not traveled nearly five thousand miles to hear half-truths and pretense. Gently, she placed her hand on his.

She said, "I know something is very wrong, Gil."

Grissom's hand covered his face; he turned so he no longer faced Sara. "I wanted to be there for your birthday, Sara. I—I know I've hurt you…"

"No, Gil, we need to talk—to be together for a few days—"

He interrupted her, "You don't know, do you? You haven't—no—you—you don't know what I've done." Suddenly, he turned back to her, his hand closed in a fist against his mouth. His face, flushed minutes earlier, had gone pale.

Sara was unsure how to react; she was stunned, confused by her husband's words and appearance. She could not imagine what her husband had done to cause such anguish to himself.

"Gil…"

He held up his hand to quiet her. "I—I don't know where to begin, Sara." His voice was almost a whisper.

Sara stood. "You don't have to tell me now—it can wait." She smiled and took his hand. "Show me around. It's beautiful here! I—I hope you'll have a place for me to sleep for a few days." She forced her voice to be lighthearted, optimistic.

He nodded. "I have one of the cottages—there will be plenty of room." He sighed as he stood. "I want to show you around but—but first, we need to talk. I need to tell you some things." His voice wavered as he spoke. "Things that will change us—Sara," he turned away again as his voice caught in his throat. Several seconds passed before he spoke, "I have waited too long, Sara; I am not the person you think I am."

Concern, confusion, and fear slammed into Sara's brain; for a moment, she felt dizzy.

Reaching for her arm, Grissom took her elbow; he picked up her bag and they walked from the dining area along connecting walkways to a group of four small buildings. "I live in that one," he said pointing to one of the identical structures. "Two rooms and a shared bathroom. It works—simple plumbing." He let go of her arm and leaned against the railing.

Quietly, he said, "I don't know where to begin, Sara. It's an old story—and each time it happens a heart is broken."

Sara felt as if she was in a bizarre kind of daydream. Her husband was in such distress, troubled and saddened in a way she had never seen. Whatever it was, there was no doubt, she knew, it would change her life—and with that thought, sudden realization caused a lightheadedness that made her reach for the handrail. The daydream had just become a nightmare.

Softly, she managed to say, "There is another woman." It explained his reluctance to come home, the money, his messages telling her to move on with her life. Sudden tears ran down her face and even as she wiped her eyes, more tears followed. Sara understood the meaning of a broken heart as her chest ached, as she struggled to breathe.

"I never meant to hurt you."

Long minutes of crying, of gasping for breath, passed before she was able to ask, "When?"

Again, he turned away from her. "It—it wasn't—I never loved her, Sara." His voice choked. "This is the most difficult thing I've ever had to say. Almost a year ago," he rotated back to face her. "I'll tell you everything you want to know—I—I don't—how can you forgive me?" Tears filled his eyes. "For weeks, I've tried—I've hurt you," he whispered, wiping his eyes.

Sara noticed his chest; she realized he was having difficulty breathing. And he could not meet her eyes.

He continued, "But first—first—there is something more important." He took her hand and led her to the small house that was his.

As she managed to walk the few steps, Sara's attempt to concentrate on small objects worked. She noticed the handle on the screen door, a small cross made of carved wood hung on the wall, a metal hook held a multicolored shawl.

Inside, she focused on the first room's furnishings—a sitting room with four chairs, a desk, a table, brightly colored fabrics folded on one of the chairs next to a stack of white cloths—Sara noticed her photograph was on the desk. There were several boxes, like the ones he had sent to Vegas, stacked against a wall. Three baskets filled a corner.

"Please, will you sit here—wait—I—I don't know what else to do," Grissom asked as he guided her to a chair. "I'll be right back." And quickly he disappeared into the next room.

Sara's mind raced as she tried to comprehend what her husband had admitted—another woman. He had been with another woman—one he did not love, he said. Nearly a year ago—it had to have happened when he arrived at the research center—perhaps before. Was that why he was so excited about working in the deep rainforest? A female researcher? Looking around the room, she knew—because she knew her husband—that no woman had influenced the decorating of the room where she sat. No woman was living with him.

She heard muffled voices and a door creaked as it was opened and closed. She caught a glimpse of someone—a woman—was it Nelda?—walking to one of the other dwellings.

Almost as quickly as he had disappeared, Grissom returned, hesitating as he stood in the doorway. Sara's mouth dropped open, unable to comprehend yet knowing—the air in her lungs seemed to strangle her. Something was pressing under her sternum—perhaps her heart was ripping apart—she knew she was going to cry. The strength left her legs; she could not move. Somehow, she managed to press her eyes closed in an effort to keep tears from pouring out and in the sudden blackness her mind pawed back into images of the past months in Vegas. Times when she'd wake up so cold her teeth chattered, her heart pounding. Hours spent in confusion and bewilderment as she tried to figure out what had happened to her marriage. Days when she walked in a fog—and now, her life seemed to be exploding, imploding, and a dam broke as her eyes gushed tears.

_A/N: We believe in happy endings! It is coming, promise! Thank you for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: A little reminder to a few readers-Grissom has secrets. He never told Sara about Lady Heather or Julia. He spent a night with Lady H when he and Sara were living together and did not tell her where he was. If you remember he paid much more attention to Lady H and her 'needs' than he did to Sara's. Do you see a pattern here? And NO-Lady H does not show up in this story!_

_So for readers who can't believe we've written Grissom in a less than perfect situation, remember his history! _

_And because we left you hanging on a cliff, with two chapters, here it is..._

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 9**

Gil Grissom had broken her heart—the only man she had ever loved had shattered her life—and she could not gather the strength needed to move.

In seconds he was across the room, a hand outstretched. Sara saw the look of deep pain—for her—pain he had inflicted on a person he loved.

Time seemed to stop and in the grip of an erupting volcano of tears, everything was magnified. She could see the fine lines of worry etched in her husband's face that had not been there a year ago. His hair was longer, curled and damp from sweating, and much whiter. His outstretched hand was clean but calloused from hard work. In those seconds, Sara knew he had lived in agony, in pain and misery. He had suffered alone, not in fear of her, but in humiliation, his loss of dignity and self-respect.

Against his chest, he held the result of his shame.

Sara whispered, "Rosita—little Rose." She wiped her face as Grissom sat down, moving his chair so their knees touched.

"I named her Rosemary," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I should have told you—I couldn't—not—not…" his voice simply faded away. Easily, he maneuvered the infant so she faced Sara; slowly he uncovered the sleeping baby. "I've had her since the day she was born," he glanced at Sara. "Her mother never wanted her, Sara."

Without being aware of it, Sara's fingers reached out and touched the baby. A release of tension let her draw a deeper breath and somehow, her hands slipped underneath the infant. A spontaneous smile began at the corners of her mouth and slowly spread across her face even as tears dripped from her chin and wet the baby's face; she lifted and cradled the little girl against her chest. Her finger gently touched the soft downy tufts of blonde hair; she was mesmerized by the obvious flawlessness of the baby. Her finger moved along smooth, unblemished skin, a plump cheek, to a little chin, already marked by a baby-sized dimple. She frowned and made a soft groan; why had she not noticed the resemblance when she held the baby earlier?

There were too many things in Sara's brain that she did not want to think about; thinking would bring her to the edge of an abyss, to questions without answers or answers she did not want to hear.

She heard herself ask, "Are they supposed to sleep so much?"

Grissom grunted, saying, "She sleeps all the time. Then she wakes up and wants to eat and cry and poop when I'm asleep! I think she has tiny sensors so she knows when I'm really sleeping and then she wakes up."

Sara surprised herself by laughing. And with the laugh, she felt the ache in her chest diminishing.

"For a while, she and Luis slept together—shared a—a bed but once he rolled over, she got her own bed. She—she sleeps with me—in her basket," he shrugged his shoulders when Sara looked at him. "I've learned a lot in three months."

Easily, Sara's mind leaped back. "December."

"The first day of December, around four in the afternoon. She—she was a tiny little thing—less than five pounds. I—I don't think she would have survived if Nelda had not arrived the next morning." Quietly, he said, "Nelda's sister works here and-and she got Nelda here when-when..." Again, he shrugged, wiping his hand across his face.

Rosita stirred and opened her eyes—crystal blue, Sara thought—as blue as the sky. The eyes of her father, she thought. The baby wiggled and gave a small cry. Sara looked at Grissom.

Effortlessly, he took the baby and cradled her to his chest as naturally as Nelda had earlier. The breath left Sara's lungs; she was dumbstruck by the absolute perfection of man and child. She blinked tears back as she found herself thinking of goodness and innocence wrapped in the form of a baby. The pain in her chest seemed to be retreating; she could breathe normally.

"Where's her mother, Gil?"

As he stroked the infant's back, soothing her sounds until her head rested in sleep against his shoulder, he told the story of his infidelity, one act of adultery that resulted in the birth of his daughter.

"Her mother is gone, Sara. She—she was one of the anthropologists working with the government—young, brilliant, absorbed in her work and her research." He changed the baby's position, cradling her in the crook of his arm. With his free hand, he touched Sara's knee and when she did not move away, his fingers caressed her leg.

"We had celebrated our successes—I had gotten this appointment, she was going to Iceland, others had new projects. We were all going separate ways in a few days. That night—she and I ended up sitting on the porch together, talking, excited, drinking too much." His voice pleaded in such a way that Sara's eyes met his. "I would do anything to take that night back—for it to never have happened. Except for—except for Rosemary—Sara, I—I know this is so hard for you. Every day, I love her more."

Sara looked away.

"We ended up in bed—I can say I don't remember—and I don't because I've spent months trying to forget what I did. The next morning, hung-over, we stumbled out of bed, embarrassed, and made a joke of it—she did, anyway. All I could think of was you—what I had done would tear us apart." His hand rested on her knee as silent tears ran down her face.

Sara remained quiet, wiping her face, as he continued.

"She left the next day—I—I couldn't come to you—not after what I'd done. So I packed my things and came here." He shifted the baby again, holding her with both arms. When he lifted his hand from Sara's knee, she looked at him.

"Can I hold her?" She asked and he gently placed the sleeping infant in her arms.

He said, "Lift her head a bit higher." He smiled, saying "You'll get the hang of it."

Sighing, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and continued, "I did not hear from her for months—seven months, actually. And one day, she walked off one of the tourist boats that occasionally show up at the dock. I was surprised—I—I did not think our paths would cross again. And then she told me she was pregnant—and I was the father."

Sara wiped her hand across her tear-streaked face but she managed to keep the baby balanced in her arms.

Continuing the story, Grissom said, "She stayed here. Said she had never intented to have a baby—had not thought—refused to believe she was pregnant until long past the date to—to terminate. Then, according to her, she went into denial until she decided to track me down. She asked 'What do you want to do?' Told me she was not going to be unethical—have a man's baby and give it away without him knowing—so she came to tell me."

His nervousness propelled him out of the chair and he got up to walk—pace—as he talked. "I didn't know what to do, Sara. This stranger—someone—I—I barely knew—like—like one of the women in the lab—or—or—Hodges would be to you—I knew her from working with her every day, but I didn't know this woman! I had no feelings for her!" He leaned against the desk for a long minute. "You were coming in December, so I thought—I thought—maybe we could—you and I—could decide to—to take the baby—as ours—Sara, I didn't know what else to do!" He turned away from the desk to face her, saying, "I know you, Sara, better than I know myself! I know how intense your integrity is—I knew you would be angry but I also knew you—you would do the right thing." His voice broke into a sob he made no effort to hide. "Even if you never wanted to see me again, I knew—I prayed—that you would love a baby."

Crying silent tears, Sara watched as he paced across the room. "What was her name? You've never said her name."

Her quiet voice stopped his movement and he returned to the chair. "Sharon Blackman—Dr. Sharon Blackman. She stayed until December—not here, she was—she was in one of the lodge rooms—we made plans to take one of the tourist boats to Iquitos where she'd have the baby—but little Rosemary decided to arrive early—she was born here." He reached over and stroked the baby's face. "The first time I saw her, I knew she was mine." He watched for several minutes as Sara's hand cradled the baby's head. "Several days later, the tourist boat stopped as requested. Sharon got on the boat and left, leaving a letter saying the baby was mine and she wouldn't be back. Several weeks later, I received legal documents that relinquished her rights and any privileges to 'the female infant born on December 1'. I—I wanted to be sure—so I ran a DNA test—we do it on plants and animals so it's not difficult to run human DNA.

"Sara, I didn't want to hurt you—I—I—thought—I don't know what I thought. After I missed you in you in December—we couldn't get out—the river was too high—she was only two weeks old—and you were waiting. I went into a panic. I thought I'd missed my chance! You were better off without—without us." Grissom covered his lips with shaking fingers.

Sara could not lift her eyes from the baby she held—a baby, warm and alive and fitting perfectly within her arms. As if the baby knew what Sara was thinking, she wiggled and opened her eyes, waved little hands and made angry little sounds. Sara could not remember holding an infant this small; a nervous laugh erupted at the spirit and strength of such a little human.

"She'll want her bottle," Grissom said. "Nelda will have it ready." He left the room in a hurry.

Sara stayed in the chair; with an instinct she did not recognize, she moved the baby to her shoulder and the whimpering stopped. Quietly, Sara spoke, "Your daddy has gone to get you something to eat. Got to eat—keep your strength up for—for catching up with Luis." She wasn't sure how a baby was nursed at one feeding and given a bottle at the next, but evidently there was a method worked out because a few minutes later, Grissom appeared with a bottle.

He handed it to her. "You can do it—she has a great appetite."

Sara shifted the baby to the crook of her left arm and took the bottle. Looking at Sara with wide blue eyes, she accepted the nipple and began to suck. Sara smiled, grateful and relieved as a wonderful sense of success poured through her body, and she realized she was no longer crying, and for a moment, she wasn't scared or upset or confused. She was providing needed nourishment to a helpless infant and there was nothing else she had to think or do.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! A special thank you to those who send comments and reviews! One more chapter will wrap this one up! _


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thank you for staying with us for this story! We promise a fun, flirty, full of smut story next! _

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 10**

The baby drank half the bottle's contents, spit out the nipple, screwed up her face and whimpered. Grissom showed Sara what to do and within seconds, a very loud burp erupted at the same time as the sound of passing gas was heard. Sara laughed; her husband laughed.

Sara offered the bottle again; actually, little Rosemary reached and grabbed Sara's hand, making a little fist as she latched on to long fingers. Unaware and unconscious of this primal contact, Sara's brain cells begin to change.

"Like father like daughter," Sara said as she watched the baby, a toothless smile forming as the infant chewed on the nipple before setting in to finish it off.

Their laughter faded into quietness as they watched the baby wiggle for several minutes until she succumbed to a full belly, lids closed over sleepy eyes and the nipple fell from her mouth.

Grissom's face changed, conveying his state with troubled eyes; solemn and sad, he said, "Can you ever forgive me, Sara?"

For a while, Sara did not reply. He waited, barely breathing, as Sara watched the baby nestled in her arms.

When he asked the question, Sara's mind was only in the moment—feeding and burping a baby, holding a tiny human while sleeping—and the question had abruptly shaken her back into the reality of the circumstances. She was holding the result of her husband's unfaithfulness—she wanted to answer, simply, with one word, but her emotions held her response.

She wanted to cry as a war was fought in her brain; she wanted to beat something with her fists and kick something with her feet. She wanted to scream and rant and rage until her anger exploded as hot lava, scorching, burning everything in its path where nothing would grow for a hundred years. Once, she might have done all of that, but one thought came into her mind and with the thought came the memory of the person who had told her "put on your big girl pants and move on". It caused her to smile. Moving on—life would continue; so many people did not get another opportunity. She nodded. An audible sigh came from her husband. She looked from the infant to his eyes. Relief flooded Grissom's face; his body relaxed and took on a familiar, graceful position she had almost forgotten until she saw it.

After a long silence, she said, "I've always loved you, Gil. Until I loved you, I had no idea—no conception—of what the word meant." She handed the empty bottle to him and then lifted the baby to her shoulder. She rubbed its back until another burp, more ladylike, quieter than the first one, was produced. Thoughtfully, she looked at her husband, remembering the weeks—no, it had been months—she had spent trying to determine what she had done to cause his remoteness, to move him so far away from the intimacy of their relationship.

Yet, playing throughout the months, always in her mind, she knew her love for Gil Grissom was greater than her love for anyone or anything in the world. And that knowledge had kept her going, moving forward even when she wanted to crawl into a closet. It had brought her to this remote place, not even a dot on a map, to an area of the world most people did not know existed, to face the unknown. Even now, having him so near, hearing his voice, seeing the care he took with the baby, knowing he had suffered in ways she would never know, affected her with a deep unswerving passion. Forgiveness and acceptance was readily and easily given.

Softly, yet firmly, she said, "We are going home. I want to sleep with you every night until I'm seventy, maybe eighty, years old. I don't want Rosemary growing up without both of us—her parents sharing her days and nights, her dreams, her scrapes and boo-boos." Unconsciously, she had lifted the baby's hand and was examining each little finger. A sob rose but she fought it back. "I want to live with you, Gil, because I love you." The sob broke and it took a minute for her to recover. "And today, on what should be a day of sorrow and regret," she looked up, trying to remember a quote, and then misquoted: "The goddess said 'your heart didn't heal right the first time it broke, so we'll break it again and reset it so it heals straight this time' and it'll be stronger, Gil." When he appeared puzzled, she added, "I've been reading a lot lately—and I've fallen in love, for the second time." She smiled as tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.

_In the days that followed_:

They became a family.

One of the first things Sara learned was how Grissom had used most of the money. He had purchased another washing machine for the center—a wringer-washer, the mechanical kind used in the United States in the 1930s, with two big tubs, two rollers attached to the top, and a hose to add water. He improved the water treatment system. He paid salaries for Nelda and her husband to work at the center—Nelda's primary job was caring for her baby and Rosita. And when he purchased infant supplies, he ordered two of everything. A sizeable chunk had gone to an attorney in Lima and he had sent money to Sharon Blackman after he had gotten the legal papers verified. Legally, she became an unnamed surrogate.

After three weeks, Sara, Grissom, and little Rosemary traveled on the tourist boat into Iquintos. The trip took two additional days, but the family was comfortable in a small room, with a private bath, and a tiny crib wedged next to the queen size bed. Since the day Sara had met her daughter, she had slept with one hand near the baby—rarely letting the infant out of her sight.

Until their departure, Sara had followed Nelda and baby Luis for days, learning from the young mother about powdered formula and boiling water, how to changed cloth diapers and laundry them to snow-whiteness, about naps and night time feedings. Little Rosemary seemed to have no difficulty changing from her nanny and wet nurse to a mother with a bottle. Within hours of her arrival, everyone at the center knew baby Rosita's mother had arrived and simply accepted that one woman had a baby for another woman; and because a half-dozen researchers were constantly moving in and out of the research center, only three people knew the truth about little Rosemary and they had no reason to explain her origin.

Obvious to everyone, Sara was in love with everything about her baby: the shape of her eyebrows, her tiny feet and toes, each perfect little fingernail, the plumpness of her bottom lip, her delicate eyelids. One day, the women, including Nelda, gathered around as Sara sang to little Rosemary—a song about an itsy bitsy spider—that caused the baby to laugh in rolling giggles. The women showed Sara how to carry a baby with a shawl, how to close mosquito netting tightly around the baby's basket, how to bathe an infant with a bucket of water, and on the day they left, the women presented Sara with two mementos, a beautifully woven shawl of the colors of the rainforest and a small white dress fit for a baby princess with tucks and pleats and a vivid cascade of rainforest insects hand-stitched along the hem.

Grissom knew he would never be able to put into words what he felt and observed, and participated in, as his wife learned to care for his daughter—their daughter. Sara never hesitated as she cared for Rosemary and, what he found fascinating, was her devotion, an almost instant attachment—something in the female brain, he decided, that made a woman love a baby.

For a week, the family remained in Iquitos sending messages to friends in Las Vegas and acquiring necessary documents, legally registering the baby's birth and signing their names as her parents. They also found a city bustling and full of life; every day was beautiful. And at some point, Sara realized they had formed a circle and she could not imagine being a straight line again, caught in the loneliness of blunt ends with an unknown future.

One afternoon when they returned to their hotel room, with little Rosemary sleeping soundly, some essence of pent-up passion that had haunted them for three weeks returned with them. They had already made love—hesitantly, under the cone-shaped ceiling of the small bedroom, quietly, on the boat as the river current carried them toward civilization—but this time it was different.

They wound around each other with an unhurried freedom and a wild need for more. They went to the edge of ecstasy heaven, backed away, and then jumped into freefall. Later, Grissom said he had never felt anything like it. Sara lay on soft sheets, pulled herself as close as she could, nestled her head beneath his chin, and tangled her legs with his.

She whispered, "I love you, Gil."

And after a year of agony and misery, Gil Grissom knew he had been forgiven; that his life was whole, it would continue, that Sara and their daughter would provide him with more happiness than he could ever imagine.

_Six months later_:

Catherine Willows had been surprised when she got a text message from Peru telling her about a baby named Rosemary. At the time, she thought the baby was a Peruvian orphan who had been given new parents—Sara was the type to adopt a foreign-born infant and Gil would happily agree. So when she was greeted at the door by Gil Grissom holding a baby as blonde, as blue-eyed, and as pink-skinned as a baby in Sweden, her mouth had dropped open in astonishment. Later, Sara's mention of one word, "surrogate", had stopped any questions or discussion as to the baby's parentage.

And Catherine visited often. If ever a baby brought a husband and wife closer, Rosemary Elizabeth Grissom was the one. She was growing into a child who inherited every good quality her parents had to offer. The very best of Grissom's looks were feminized in his daughter; she had pale blonde hair, soft curls, cerulean blue eyes, and a rosy complexion one would compare to a pale pink rose. Finding Sara's influence was less obvious, yet Catherine decided it was there—passion and charm, a sweet oval face and long fingers. Within days, Catherine noticed the knitted brow and the serious look and knew without doubt that certain characteristics were passed from one generation to the next.

_The rest of the story_:

Betty Grissom was delighted when presented with a beautiful granddaughter; she didn't ask, nor did she care, how her son managed to bring a baby back from Peru. She knew science was capable of many miracles. Laura Sidle was happy to see her daughter smile.

Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, and Jim Brass never discussed the days when they had each attempted to mend Sara's broken heart. They knew their friends were back together and happily raising their daughter. Jim Brass, as the one who knew the most, had learned long ago that some things were best kept as a vague memory.

Gil Grissom, consciously or not, changed; he stayed in Las Vegas and rediscovered his interest in honeybees, along with a new job, at the local university. And discovered, or remembered, enjoyment in being married. True to his wife's request, he slept with her every night. For the first time in his married life, he became a good husband, dependable, respectful, and loving. And, to no one's surprise, he was devoted to his daughter in the usual ways of an older father—he thought Rosemary was perfect.

Sara Sidle Grissom did not accept the position as team leader; when she turned in her resignation, Conrad Ecklie took her suggestion and gave the position to Greg. She had made a deliberate choice that day in the Peruvian rainforest to free her heartbreak; to let sadness go meant she could live. She changed. As weeks turned into months, there was sorrow, for things done and undone, but caring for a healthy baby and loving her husband banished regret, pushed that dark abyss into the past. With every milestone for her infant daughter—from rolling over to blowing spit bubbles, Sara was at peace. Her heart mended, and if possible, grew bigger and stronger. She forgave her father; she forgave her mother. She forgave her husband. She knew there was wickedness in the world and she knew there goodness. She was thankful she had landed on the good side of life.

Rosemary was such a determined little person, cooing, gurgling, and giggling, in response to her parent's voices. Sometimes, when they were trying to talk quietly, Rosemary would wave her arms and stretch her legs and giggle for the simple pleasure of reminding them she was near.

_A/N: Thank you again...we do appreciate your reviews and comments! Gives us encouragement for another story!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: After a few requests, we wrote a final chapter from Grissom's point of view. Here it is..._

**How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?**

**Chapter 11 **

_Gil Grissom had a stack of papers in front of him—applications—more money than he had ever thought possible had been awarded the university for a long-term environmental study. And he was the project leader which meant he would select people to work with him. _

_But he wasn't concentrating on the applications; his mind and eyes were following three people in his own back yard. Pushing his dark glasses up to the bridge of his nose, he watched._

_His mother was getting frail but that did not keep her from doing what she wanted to do. His wife, he smiled; the most amazing, beautiful, and compassionate person in his world, was on her knees digging in her garden. And the reason for both women's easy laughter was Rosemary—almost a year old, chattering non-stop, running from one to another—as she 'helped' with planting cool-weather vegetables. _

_His eyes clouded with wide-ranging emotions as he watched—an every day event he had almost missed—and he remembered…_

Even in a stupor caused by too much unfamiliar pisco followed by whisky, he knew he had betrayed his wife. He had gotten drunk and, in an indiscreet and careless moment, had followed a woman to bed. It had been quick and impulsive, and the pleasure had been intense and immediately regretted.

What would he tell Sara? He could not suddenly spring it on her—'I slept with another woman'. Would she want to know? It would mean talking—really talking to Sara—not by phone, but in person. All he could think about was how much sadness he would cause her.

The guilt was his; Sharon Blackman had laughed, made a joke about waking up her libido once every three years, and had gone to tell the others goodbye.

He sent a plant. And told Sara he was not coming home, hearing sadness in her voice when she asked when he'd be able to come home. But she was also excited—for him, for his work.

The guilt stayed with him—months passed and he still had such regret; loneliness was pervasive, made worse each time he talked to Sara. He postponed going to Vegas, unable to face her, not yet. Each time they talked, it was about his work, about her work, making vague remarks about seeing her. Every conversation pained to the point that his ability to converse faded to mumbled words before ending. He worked until exhausted, trying to forget that night, forget the betrayal, forget everything but the discovery of another insect.

Finally, he agreed to a compromise—Sara wanted to come to Lima. They would talk—he would make the decision—not sure if he could tell her about that night—there had been other things they had not spoken about and Sara accepted that as part of their life together. Perhaps his failure, his mistake, did not have to become part of their marriage.

And then his worst fear—no, not fear, because he had closed his indiscretion into a small, dark space in his brain—a new and totally unexpected nightmare arrived.

Pregnant—Sharon Blackman stepped off the tourist boat, arriving with no notice, to tell him she was having his baby. It took days for his mind to grasp the shock; yet, each time she spoke became a new eternity—she had no intention of keeping the child, she said. A girl—what was he to do?

Sharon, as straight-forward and detached about the situation as she had been while working on the Moche project, voiced regret—for both and what had happened between them. She saw no reason to announce the reason for arriving at the center. She told Sean that Grissom was a long-time friend, but Sean, a man who had four children with three women, had guessed and had given her a room in the lodge for as long as she wanted to stay. Privately, he told Grissom to make sure she was elsewhere before going into labor.

Grissom knew he could not deceive Sara—she would have to know about a baby. He stayed awake for hours trying to figure out how to tell his wife—about his adultery, about the consequence—a baby. He and Sara had tried for months to start a family only to learn—it was too late—he had waited too long.

A plan—an idea—came to him in the middle of a sleepless night. Would Sara—would Sara forgive him? And in her forgiveness, would she take the baby as her child? They had talked about adoption only to learn he was too old. Surrogacy had been discussed and dismissed as too expensive. Sara, even if she could not forgive him, would love a child.

And then his nightmare had turned into chaos—a maelstrom of sudden labor, a tiny baby born in the middle of the afternoon with a native woman acting as midwife. Sharon Blackman had smiled afterwards, expressing satisfaction that the baby was healthy, but showing no change in her original declaration. She had no intention of becoming a mother; the baby was his.

So many things happened in the days following the infant's birth, he barely noticed Sharon Blackman's departure. Psychologically, he knew he was not in a good place; two of the local woman took charge of little Rosemary's care and she thrived. Sean, realizing the troubled mindset and the potential for a greater tragedy, made suggestions trying to get Grissom engaged in the baby's care.

Then the unrelenting rain started—he would always remember the rain.

The research center became an island, impossible to leave in a wide, fast flowing muddy river. Sara arrived in Lima and he was not going anywhere. Grissom felt he was in the middle of the ten plagues of Egypt except he was in Peru.

But the rain accomplished one thing; confined to the center's buildings, he learned to care for his daughter. He knew the baby was his—even though Sean had insisted he run a DNA test—she was a near-clone of a photograph his mother had hanging on her bedroom wall. He had watched the woman caring for her and slowly, gradually, he gained confidence in caring for his baby daughter. He held the infant, gave her a name, but Rosemary, nicknamed Rosita, was ten days old before he fell in love with the miracle that had been given him in a wisp of humanity.

By the time the river receded and Sara had returned to Vegas, his original plan—if he could call it that—had fallen apart. Several things occurred in a short time—a few days, as he remembered—as he gained confidence with Rosita, his belief that Sara would accept the baby began to fade.

In a stack of mail, he received a Christmas card from David Hodges and in the ramblings of a 'yearly update', there was an oddly written mention of Sara working with an old friend. Grissom remembered Sara talking about the NTSB guy and had not given a second thought to her former colleague until old fears and past doubts interrupted his thoughts, dwelled in his sleepless nights, and embedded in his actions.

He sent Sara a muddled-up email, vaguely telling her she should think about moving on with her life. And he requested money from a joint account; he needed it to make Rosemary safe. Infant supplies, a washing machine, a water purifier, and legal fees quickly eroded his funds.

Of course, he had been a fool.

Sara discovered his humiliation, his betrayal, and his daughter whom she loved. And she forgave him—without reservation, without a pause.

Things began to change in his life, incrementally and from within. While his self-absorbed ways would occasionally surface, he resolved to make Sara and Rosemary the center of his universe. He had been given another chance, to make a life worthy of forgiveness.

He had told his mother of his infidelity; she had accepted Rosemary as her granddaughter without question and continued to have the grace and decency not to mention it again.

The wanderlust that had driven him to ends of the earth was gone, replaced by a grateful frame of mind. Sara's boundless forgiveness had spilled over and soothed his troubled soul.

_As the sun touched his face, as a bird's song caught his daughter's attention, as his wife signed for his mother, Gil Grissom heard a mighty love song of kindness, of joyful healing in a symphony as real as an orchestra._

_He watched as Rosemary danced a made-up dance, turning in circles with her arms out wide, meeting her mother's hands before dancing away again. His mother clapped her hands. Sara turned, laughing, a look of elation on her face, as she watched her daughter. _

_Grissom felt a pleasant, sleepy warmth as he was engulfed by wave after wave of happiness, almost weightless with profound joy. He felt his mother's silent invitation, the feel of Sara when he held her in his arms, and he thought of Rosemary's small arms around his legs, and then he got up and began to walk toward them._

_A/N: Thank you for reading one more chapter of the story written as our response to "Forget Me Not". We appreciate your comments and reviews as inspiration and encouragement. _


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